Page 12 of The Reluctant Hero

“Fine,” I agree, just to get her off the phone.

I hang up and look around at the mess.

Gloria doesn’t know Amanda. She’s broke. She’ll get desperate. All I have to do is wait her out. Until she contacts me with whatever pathetic threats and ultimatums she’s going to have, I’m ignoring her.

A chime goes off, making me groan in frustration. Amanda has her own text tone, so I know how to act when I answer. I have to brace myself to put up with her clingy bullshit. I’ve been enjoying the freedom from her presence and I’ll continue that until it’s time to play the loving husband again.

Amanda: I want a divorce.

It’s been the same thing every day. Like she thinks if she demands it I’ll give it to her. She can dream on. As long as she has my last name, I have everything under control.

“Stupid cunt,” I mutter and delete the message.

She’ll break. I know it. I knowher. There’s no way she can last out there alone. She lived with her parents before I took her away from that stupidity. I trained her to be the perfect wife once their influence was out of sight. She’s never been alone before, and she’s too weak to put up much of a fight.

If she finds a man to remodel her, she might stand a chance. Lucky for me, she’s ugly as fuck and fat to top it off. She doesn’t care how pathetic she looks. No makeup. No upkeep. I had to show her how to dress for fuck’s sake. No one with a brain is going to touch that with a ten-foot pole.

“Hold your fucking breath, Mandy.”

I text Annette back. I’m in the mood for a rage fuck.

5

First Day In Hell

Amanda

(Two months later…)

I stand in front of the shiny building with nerves fluttering in my stomach.

Matthias, LLC.

An investment group that’s been buying up shops all over town and flipping them to be successful. According to the ad in my purse, they need someone to file. I don’t care what the job is as long as it pays better than the shitty diner.

I can’t take one more complaint about my lousy service without spraying someone down with a ketchup bottle. The pay is terrible, tips are hard to come by, and I think the cook spits in everything he makes. The last few months of living expenses have drained my meager savings to nothing. I need more money and, hopefully, some steady hours.

This is the only office job I could find, so I figured that with my banking experience, this should be an easy fit. I look down at my thrift store-bought skirt suit with a cringe and then straighten my shoulders. Survive or don’t—those are my choices right now.

I’m a Jefferson, and we don’t stop fighting.

I walk in and fill out an application. The gray-haired receptionist looks like she’s been harassed all morning, and it’s only eight-thirty. When I’m done, I look at all the blinking lights on her phone as she puts another person on hold.

“Can I help?” I ask with a raised brow. I’ve been there, this part of any office job sucks. Plus, it will leave a good impression on someone who already works here.

“Can you answer a phone?” she says baldly.

I slide behind the desk to start answering calls. It doesn’t matter if I place them all on hold after taking their names and which department they need. It’s help, and she needs it desperately. As we settle into a groove, she writes the codes for how to transfer and to which departments.

I’ve been there for over an hour when a blond rushes in with pink cheeks, sliding to a surprised stop at my chair.

“Ellen,” the woman next to me glares.

“I’m sorry I was caught up with something, Harriette,” she wiggles her eyebrows pointedly.

My stomach pitches because my first thought iswho is he married to?

I stand quickly and give the woman a polite smile. She hardly notices as she takes the seat and begins gossiping about how well-endowed the man from last night was. Harriette is at least in her sixties. How can she want to hear that? I don’t, and I’m in my late twenties.

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